


around you

by spools



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Time Skip, Pre-Time Skip, idk what im writing i just like dimitri, this was meant to be byleth opening up to all the students but dimitri just be like that i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21653935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spools/pseuds/spools
Summary: Byleth and conversations that could've been said. (Mostly with Dimitri.)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 102





	around you

“Professor? Is that you?”

Byleth turns around. She hadn’t expected anyone to come to the cathedral this late at night, and certainly not Dimitri, who looks at her with a perplexed expression, his eyes wide.

“Pardon me,” he stammers, dipping his head, almost in apology.

“It’s alright,” Byleth nods. Dimitri stands by the entrance, and if Byleth squints, she can see him fidgeting with a lance. He’s, strangely, still dressed in his armor, though the moon is high enough in the sky to put candles inside the cathedral to shame. Collecting the papers she left on the pews, she starts to exit.

“Were you grading papers?” Dimitri asks, eyes wandering to the stack of papers tucked underneath her arm. The way he stands gives no implication whether he’d head inside or back out.

“No,” Byleth shakes her head, stopping in her tracks, “I left my lesson plans here earlier.”

“I see,” Dimitri says, still frozen in place.

There's a bit of an awkward silence. Dimitri looks as if he’s about to run. Byleth stares blankly ahead, pondering what to say.

Eventually, she settles on asking, “What are you doing here? Are you planning on sparring with Saint Cichol?”

It wasn't meant to be a jest, but Dimitri lets out a laugh. “Professor, are you making jokes now? Have you learned from me?”

“I learn from the very best.” Byleth scrunches up her nose in a mischievous smile.

Dimitri turns his head away quickly — too quickly. Byleth looks at his profile in confusion. “A-Anyway, Professor,” he starts, “I just came back from the training grounds. I was planning on praying, and then I would study.”

“Do you pray often?”

“Not particularly, I admit. I just feel like it helps.”

“I should make my exams easier, if you have to consult the Goddess to pass,” Byleth muses. “If you're up so late studying… Has it been that difficult, Dimitri?”

“I pray for something else,” he explains, albeit briefly. “Besides,” Dimitri turns to look at her, waving a hand frantically, “if that were the case, please, don’t do that to accommodate for me! You don't need to compromise your integrity for me to pass.”

“That was also a joke,” Byleth says, a flicker of a smile on her lips. “Don't worry, Dimitri. I won't go easy on you.”

He nods, returning the smile. “I appreciate it.”

Byleth shivers when a gust of wind finds its way inside the cathedral. She wraps her cape tighter around herself. Dimitri notices, and heads to close the gates. “Ah, no. You don't need to do that. I was planning on going back to my quarters,” Byleth pipes up.

Dimitri flushes. “Yes, of course. My apologies.”

“It’s alright. Please, go to bed soon,” she suggests. “I don't want you coming to my lectures on two hours of sleep.”

“I'll try,” Dimitri nods. “Good night, Professor.”

“See you in the morning.” Byleth spares one last look, then waves, and heads down the path to the dormitories.

+

Dimitri asks to spar, and Byleth agrees.

They find Sylvain sitting on the floor in the training grounds, staring absentmindedly at the Lance of Ruin. He’s gripping it so hard his knuckles look white.

Dimitri makes eye contact with her. She gives him the same look back.

Sylvain spots them, and jumps up, hastily dropping the lance. “Ah, Professor!” He runs his hand through his hair. “Looking as lovely as always.”

“I would prefer if you just said hi,” Byleth says.

It doesn’t take a genius to recognize the worry in her voice. (Not that Sylvain wasn’t smart, unlike what he carefully upholds his image for people to believe.)

The smile on his face grows wider, even if his eyes dart aside. “Hi, Professor. Hi, Dimitri.”

The Lance of Ruin glows on the ground.

Dimitri clears his throat.

Sylvain’s lip twitches. “Are you guys here to check up on your pal? Felix isn’t here, you know.”

Byleth knows he doesn’t mean anything he said.

“Sylvain,” Dimitri starts. “I can’t say that I understand your situation—”

“Oh, is that what it is?” Sylvain laughs, carefree. “It’s okay, Your Highness. I’m fine. All good.”

Byleth isn’t sure what to say. It’s not like she understands, either. She doesn’t know if Sylvain should feel inexplicable sadness, or if he should feel relief, or would it be a combination of both?

“Are you sure?” Dimitri says. He’s carefully avoiding the topic, and Dimitri is very good at dealing with other people, so should Byleth avoid it as well?

Sylvain says, “I just killed my brother who turned into a demonic beast. Not a big deal,” so nonchalantly that Byleth barely processes what he says.

After a second, Dimitri stutters, “I-I see.”

Byleth can see Sylvain’s smile waver, but he replaces it with another one, good as new. He bends down to pick up a wooden lance, holding it at his side. “C’mon, guys,” he holds it in position, “you were gonna spar, right? Were you going to leave me out, Professor? I’m hurt.”

The Lance of Ruin lays pitifully on the floor, but it’s still there. Sylvain struggles to keep eye contact with Byleth, his eyes darting towards it on occasion.

She shakes her head. “Feel free to join us. We’re going over footwork.” She already has her wooden sword with her, so she draws it out.

“Nice, Professor!” Sylvain cheers. His eyes are calculating, but his smile looks easy and genuine. “Say, if I beat you, can I take you to dinner?”

 _You should punch him_ , Sothis advises. _Knock him out_.

Later, she beats Sylvain, five to zero. (Dimitri beats him too.)

+

Byleth gets a knock on her door late at night.

She calls out, “Who is it?” Her voice is scratchy from disuse, and her eyes feel red-hot, swollen.

“It’s Dimitri, Professor,” is his hesitant reply. “It’s… It’s alright if you don’t feel comfortable enough to answer.”

Byleth tenses up, and for a second, she feels like Jeralt’s blood is pooling on her hands again. There’s a metallic taste in her mouth. What was the point of being given such a power, if she wasn’t even able to save one person?

Sothis mumbles, _I'm sorry_ , inside her head. Her tone is uncharacteristically gentle.

She’s been awake for longer periods of time lately.

“I’m fine,” Byleth says, after clearing her throat. She doesn’t want to worry her students more. She can see the looks on their faces when she stumbles through lectures. It pales in comparison to the quick flashes of pity from faculty when she walks by. Crawling out of bed, she grabs a coat and wears it over her nightgown, and then opens her door.

Dimitri doesn’t look cold at all; maybe he’s conditioned to this weather, given how he was from Faerghus. He has a plate with pastries in his hands.

“Seteth substituted for you today, and I didn’t see you today, so I thought you’d like these,” Dimitri says, looking nervous.

Byleth says, “Thank you,” and takes the plate.

Dimitri shifts uncomfortably. “I apologize for intruding, especially at this time.”

“I don’t mind it,” Byleth says, stifling a yawn. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Should I get you some tea, then?” Dimitri asks. “Chamomile is good when you can’t sleep.”

“No, I’m fine,” Byleth says. “Is that why it’s your favorite tea?”

He denies it quickly. “No, I just like the, uh, taste.”

Byleth doesn’t know what to say, but she can’t find a reason to close the door yet.

“I’ll try some later, then,” Byleth offers. “Thank you, Dimitri.”

Dimitri nods, taking it as a cue to leave. “Um… good night, Professor.”

“Good night.”

Dimitri says, “Sweet dreams,” then he pales, and excuses himself.

Byleth can barely hear him over the rushing that comes back to her ears, like she’s back inside the forest, cradling her father’s body.

+

Red hot anger courses through Byleth’s blood when she throws open the cathedral gate. The cathedral is, understandably, empty. Whenever Dimitri enters, the priests clear out, and no one dares to go inside — some particularly frightened soldiers even take a detour through the back to avoid him.

Today, that is not Byleth’s objective.

Dimitri rests on one of the pews, his cape unclasped, balled up, and pressed on his shoulder. His blood contrasts the blue and stains the white fur burgundy, the result of a handaxe having perfectly reached its target.

Before Byleth even enters his periphery, he barks out, “Go away.”

“I will not go away,” Byleth seethes. “You recklessly got out of position and almost died, and Annette almost got killed because of you. Did you see our soldiers? So many were injured.”

Her lips tremble. She had rewound time, maybe five or six times, because in each one, Dimitri fell.

“That’s none of my concern.” Dimitri looks up. His face is completely blank, and, despite his shoulder injury, devoid of any pain. “I did say I would use your friends until their flesh falls off their bones, did I not? Expect it.”

“Do you think we wage war for the fun of it? Is it a competition to get the most casualties? Do you think I want to babysit your every move instead of protecting our soldiers?” Byleth snaps. Most of her strength had been used on casting heals, forcing her to stick by Dimitri’s side so he wouldn't be out of her range.

“You already know the answer to your question,” Dimitri scorns. “I do not care. I only want her head.”

“Your Highness, who would be the one to take her head if you were to die on the battlefield from charging at the first thing you see in your path? Did you want Dedue to see you die, the day right after he came back?” she spits.

Dimitri doesn’t respond. Byleth can hear his breathing, loud and labored, and his eye narrows in fury.

She glares back at him, unyielding. He doesn’t move.

“Drop it,” Byleth instructs, looking pointedly at his cape.

Dimitri stares at her, but obliges. He takes it off the wound, dropping the garment on the ground. The inside is dirty and stained. If she didn't treat his shoulder soon, it would surely get infected.

Gently, Byleth presses her palm where the armor had cracked. Dimitri’s breathing is heavy, yet his face doesn’t give a single semblance of pain. It’s concerning how high his pain tolerance must be.

Through months of practice, the white magic she emits through her palm is enough to stop the wound from bleeding. Byleth reaches for the poultice she brought with her. She scoops up a glob, then pauses.

Dimitri is still in his armor.

He capitalizes on her hesitation. “Leave. I will apply it myself.”

There's nothing Byleth can do. She sighs, and throws a long strip of cloth and the poultice on the pew.

Dimitri grunts in acknowledgement.

+

Felix scowls when Byleth points her wooden lance at his throat. He's disarmed, and his sword lays a few feet away from him on the ground.

“Again,” he huffs, rising to his feet and grabbing his sword.

He doesn't talk much to Byleth when they spar. Actually, they don't talk much at all. It's nice, not having to focus on conversation. Felix gives nothing away when he's solely focused on training. Byleth can only rely on what little body language Felix gives.

“You sure?” Byleth asks. “It must have been two hours since we started.”

Felix looks indifferent. “If you want to leave, then leave. I don't need you here to train.”

Byleth can see the dark circles under his eyes. They've darkened even more, now that Rodrigue was back.

“Make sure you get some rest,” Byleth says. She stays.

“Are you my mother?” Felix says scathingly. He sidesteps, slashes his sword, but Byleth intercepts it easily with the hilt of her lance.

Byleth isn’t sure what to say, so she informs, “Your father is always in the Knight's Hall.” She lunges forward. “In case you want to avoid him.”

“That doesn't concern you,” Felix says, his anger thinly veiled — yet not directed at her. He pulls back, quick on his feet. “I never want to see him again.”

“May I ask why?”

Felix grimaces, his eyes narrowing. Byleth manages to sweep her lance under his legs, and he tumbles on the ground, dust flying up in the air.

Byleth offers him her hand. He doesn't accept it, because he stays seated.

“When Glenn died,” Felix starts, much to her surprise, “he didn’t care about it. He acted like it was such a great honor to die for the boar prince. Boar king. Whatever.”

Byleth nods, but doesn’t understand. Honor wasn’t part of being a mercenary. She scarcely had to worry about such, when she had to fight to secure her next meal. She supposes it’s only a noble thing.

Felix grits his teeth. He’s driving the tip of his wooden sword into the ground. “As much as I like fighting, I hate war, even though it happens. But my father acted like it was admirable to die in something that wasn’t necessary.”

“Nothing that happens in war is an honor,” Byleth says. She’s fought in enough to know.

“Exactly. That’s why, when the boar prince — boar king, now — looked so eager, it was just disgusting.”

“Like how he is right now,” Byleth murmurs. There’s a crazed, excited look on his face when they’re sent to quell Imperial troops or bandits terrorizing a village.

“I feel sorry for you,” Felix says. “You have to deal with that boar.”

“It’s like he’s a new person,” Byleth agrees.

“The worst version of my father and the boar, both together at the same time,” Felix grumbles, then exhales. He gives Byleth a look, like he’s daring her to talk.

Byleth doesn’t. “Let’s spar once more,” she says, holding out her hand. “If you beat me, I’ll forget everything you just said.”

This time, Felix accepts it. “Of course.”

+

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Dimitri says, fiddling with Areadbhar. His hair is tied up, nicely out of his face, and his armor is clean. It's a sight to behold.

“Why are we meeting here?” Byleth asks, tilting her head to the side. They're in the cathedral. For the first time — instead of facing the pile of debris — Dimitri faces her.

“I wanted to go somewhere… er, private,” Dimitri says, and he quickly looks away. “I would have recommended your quarters or mine, but… especially because it’s at night, Sylvain would be quick to scandalize it, or Felix would call me a deprived boar.”

“Oh, Sylvain. I think you can take anything he says with a grain of salt.” Byleth thinks of the many, many crass jokes Sylvain had made over the course of his time at the academy that she, unfortunately, had to witness. “At the very least, you won't have to worry about Felix.”

“Why not?” Dimitri asks. He looks genuinely puzzled.

“He calls you a boar, regardless of what you do.”

When a rare smile graces Dimitri’s lips, Byleth can't help but feel relieved. She stifles a laugh.

“Professor,” Dimitri says, his eyes wide. “Can you do that again?”

Byleth is struck with an odd sense of deja vu. She opens her mouth and raises the corners of her mouth up. “Like this?”

Dimitri’s face lights up. “I thought I had forgotten over five years,” he mumbles. Then, his cheeks flush a bright red and he turns his head to the side. “I apologize.”

Byleth tilts her head, confused. “It’s alright.”

“No, please, don’t say that. That’s what I wanted to discuss with you. I want to apologize. I treated you and everyone awfully, and I truly wasn’t worthy of all your time and effort.” Dimitri focuses on the ground. “I acted selfishly without regard to anyone around me.”

Byleth says, “It’s alright. You weren't yourself.”

“You do not have to say that just because I’m royalty.” Dimitri looks up, his face tormented. “Professor, I treated you, my classmates, my people, as objects. Like they were disposable. I was ready to abandon Faerghus while villages starved and burned in a war they should not have been in. I wasn't myself, yes, but would that provide any consolation to the companions of the deceased? It seems more like an excuse.”

Byleth doesn’t know what to say — her words catch in her throat, and her mouth feels uncomfortably dry. She swallows.

“How can I atone for my sins? How can I apologize to the dead for living while they were suffering from my ineptitude?” he whispers. “Until I can, please, you don’t have to forgive me. No one is obligated to forgive me. You can hate me. It’s only natural to.”

Byleth swallows again.

“Do you still hear them?” she asks, her hands starting to shake. She doesn’t understand why. “The ghosts.”

Dimitri admits, “I have never stopped hearing them since Duscur. Now, there are just… more. A lot more.“

He looks smaller and he’s shrinking into himself, collapsing to his knees. He’s shaking. He starts to whisper, perhaps to the ghosts, his voice barely audible. It’s the most vulnerable Byleth has ever seen him.

Byleth stays quiet, pondering what to say. She sinks to the ground as well.

Dimitri keeps whispering.

“I’m glad you told me,” Byleth finalizes after a moment that feels too long, her hand subconsciously reaching to pat his back. “It’s not good to keep all of this to yourself. But, I… I don’t think I’m the right person to consult about these types of things.”

“I keep adding to your problems,” Dimitri says, so quietly that Byleth strains to hear it. He looks up. “I just meant to apologize to you. I’m surprised you haven’t punched me in frustration yet, given how… difficult I had been.”

“I have thought about it,” Byleth says, bluntly. “Many times.”

“You must have the patience of an angel,” he says thoughtfully.

“Perhaps of the Goddess?” Byleth suggests.

Dimitri stops shaking, and lets out a heavy exhale. His face softens. “For some reason, I don’t think what you said is blasphemous.”

“What you said — that’s blasphemy.”

Dimitri’s laugh is quiet, gentle. “Thank you, my friend, for—” He pauses suddenly, and furrows his eyebrows deep in concentration. “I haven’t said a single word of gratitude since the reunion, right?” he asks, looking horrified.

Byleth tries to remember, but her mind comes up empty.

“Once,” she finally says. “It was to Mercedes, when she saved your life and almost passed out from overexertion.”

Dimitri groans and drops his forehead on her shoulder in surrender. “I must thank everyone at the first opportunity.”

Byleth’s eyes widen. She feels… something she can’t exactly describe. She’s acutely aware of her hand that still rests on his back, but it’s heavy like lead and she can’t seem to move it away, or pull herself away.

She listens to him breathe.

It feels comforting.

Then Dimitri jerks his head up, his face completely reddened (on Sothis, even both his ears are flaming red), and jolts back, leaving a generous amount of space between them.

“Dimitri?” Byleth asks, tilting her head to the side.

His face is still bright red. He clears his throat, avoiding eye contact. He stammers, “I'm— I'm sorry, Professor. I did that without asking— I didn't even know if you were comfortable— Oh Goddess, I probably took advantage of the situation because you're so kind—”

“If I were uncomfortable, I would've moved away,” Byleth states. “I can lift twice your weight.”

“It’s not a matter of me doubting your strength, Professor. I would never do that. It’s just… that was completely unwarranted. I didn't even ask… I'm so sorry. Truly,” he bemoans.

Byleth shrugs. “I didn't hate it. It was enjoyable.”

If it were possible, Dimitri’s face seems to turn even more red. For a moment, he only stares at her, mouth agape. Then, he stands up and dusts off his pants.

He reaches a hand out to Byleth.

She takes it, and pulls herself up. She can see through the hole in the ceiling. The moon is absent, but stars dot the sky, protecting her from complete darkness.

“Thank you, Professor,” Dimitri says, his complexion more or less back to normal. “For everything you've done for me, even though I was so cruel to you. I don't deserve you as a friend.”

“Dimitri?” Byleth asks.

“Yes?”

“Must you call me Professor?” she frowns, tilting her head. “I haven't been your professor for more than five years.”

There's silence that follows. Dimitri stares at her, looking as if he's unsure how to respond.

“I meant, you can call me Byleth,” she quietly adds. She squeezes his hand gently, realizing she forgot to let go.

Dimitri’s hand feels clammy in hers. “Is- Is it alright for me to make a request?”

Byleth nods.

“After I take Enbarr,” he starts, then looks away, embarrassed. “After we end the war, then I'll call you by your name.”

“At that point, I would have to call you Your Majesty,” Byleth says.

She laces their fingers together.

Dimitri’s face turns red.

**Author's Note:**

> i dont know what i wrote but i liked blue lions route a lot so i wrote some stuff. this follows the canon i guess? i wasn't rewriting the scenes in the route but just... adding some on some topics that i feel were brushed over super quickly. and also adding some more dimitri because everyone needs more dimitri
> 
> thank you for reading if you made it through........ well i guess nothing at all because there's no plot


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